these gloomy days (you bleed just to know you're alive)
by gustin puckerman
Summary: ONE-SHOT. She gave him a bored expression, "Don't be my not-husband when you're experiencing fever." Or Maria Hill found a bleeding Captain America in her living room. Post CA: The Winter Soldier.


**Disclaimer**: Everything belongs to their rightful owners.  
**Pairings**: developing Steve/Maria.  
**Characters**: Steve Rogers/Captain America, Sam Wilson/Falcon, Maria Hill, James "Bucky" Barnes (mentioned), Natasha Romanoff (mentioned), Tony Stark (mentioned), Pepper Potts (mentioned).  
**Word(s)**: 2,419 words.  
**Original Plot**: _Post CA: The Winter Soldier_. It's been four months since he left with Wilson. Two weeks since they last heard of them. Maria really didn't expect Captain America to show up in her living room bleeding with a large gap tearing the side of his face, but she really should have.

**Note**: Could also be found on Tumblr and my (fresh&new) AO3 account. This is just me, going on a stupid whim. Enjoy.

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**these gloomy days (you bleed just to know you're alive)**

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There wasn't much to say, to be honest.

Steve really didn't have any personal opinions over Commander Hill, although now that he thought it over, he perhaps should. Besides from her cold and direct demeanour, she might have been more than just what her rough mask suggested her could be. At least, that's what he could think of, as he slumped against her couch, bleeding from his side and blood trickling down his face and the only clear thing he could see was a small picture tucked between pages of a worn book ― it was her, with a young teenage boy, younger than eighteen, older than twelve, and they were smiling with dirts over their faces.

He slipped the picture slowly to the pages they were in and looked around; Sam was nowhere in sight (probably checking out the perimeter) and the image of the last explosion they went into barrelled into his mind and he's pretty sure he still had trouble hearing.

But he didn't though, because he snapped his head just in time as Commander Hill clanged her shoes against the floor, and pointed her gun right at his head. She didn't say hello ― he hadn't expect her to ― but she wasn't exactly offering him a warm welcome either. Her stance didn't waver when she tilted her head slightly one degree to the side, her eyes marvelled down to the pressure he's putting on his side. He'd put bandages prior, and Sam tried to keep it clean as long as they both could, but it seemed as though the wound won't stop bleeding and Steve was beginning to feel dehydrated.

The Falcon panicked when he told him this; said something about how if super soldier were affected, then hell know what was going on with him. Thankfully, after the explosion, besides from a cracked ribs and new colourful bruises, the Falcon was in a much better shape than him.

"You've been sloppy," Hill said, still wasn't lowering her gun. "There's blood on my front door."

"It was just a _drip_," he thought it should be counted as a joke, but Hill didn't laugh, and the smile he's trying to operate over his face felt wrong. _Tired_. God, he was just so tired.

"I'll wipe it," she said, finally lowering her gun and securing it behind. Steve allowed his head to thud back against the couch, and Hill stepped forward. "Injured?"

"Looks worse than it feels."

"May I?" She asked, tone dropped lower while her eyes glanced over her now-stained-with-blood couch. He thought of this, just for a second, squinted his eyes at Hill's mostly-unreadable expression, and noted down the touch of professionalism there, as though she knew what came next was strictly for mandatory purposes. After all, he thought, nobody can have a dead Captain America in their living room. Certainly not her. He nodded his head, gave her the permission.

"I have medical supplies. More than I should need." She began to sit on the space where he didn't take on the small couch, her hip nearly slipping off onto the floor and he summoned his strength to give her more space. "It should be enough to treat this," she pressed on, tone firm, when her fingers skilfully tugged the buttons loose one-by-one. He watched her, his mouth running dry.

"That sounds good." Was his reply.

"Where's Wilson?" She asked next, when enough buttons of his shirt was no longer intact, and pulled the fabric to reveal the torn skin under. He let go of his hold there for a moment, letting her see the bloodied bandages, or whatever's left of it.

"Will be here in a few minutes." He promised, because after months spending time with Sam, he couldn't imagine proceeding into tracking Bucky without him.

"Hm," she hummed as an acknowledgement, eyes focused in splendid concentration as she slowly analysed his wounds. Her palm pressed against his flesh, and he winced at the sudden intrusion of coldness. It had been raining, he realised, and her hair was a little damp, and her fingers were more than cold. Perhaps he should have expected that. She didn't say she was sorry even though Steve knew she saw him winced, instead continuing on with, "You're warm. More so than you should."

"How is he?" Another voice came filling in, and Hill didn't even turn her head to know who it was. Steve broke out a small smile, glad that his companion was here, and slowly shut his eyes. _Sam_.

"Fever. Fetch me a water to drink, and the medical supply under the sink in the bathroom. I'll have him dancing in no time," Hill ordered, and he wondered back to the last time he'd heard used that tone, the tone that defied her ranking in the organisation, and wondered momentarily if she missed using them. Sam strode off from view, with a small chuckle escaping his lips, muttering something about Captain America dancing.

She looked at him, this time, blue eyes met her greyish-green ones and she appeared unamused. "Stark's been searching for you."

"I didn't realise he would miss me." He answered instead, wanting to smirk.

She rolled her eyes, and Steve amused himself with the thought that for that _one_ second, she really did appear more than her former ranking suggested. She was also a woman, who was easily annoyed of certain things, and who was also tired. Pressing his cheek slight against the cushion of the couch, he tried: "So... how was work?"

She gave him a bored expression, "Don't be my not-husband when you're experiencing fever."

"Oh, asking you how's work is being your husband?"

"How I imagine a typical husband would be," she finally stretched out her hands, then cracked her neck. "But then again," she leered her attention to his wounded area, now clear to him that she really wasn't impressed. "A typical husband won't greet his wife with his flesh nearly ripped open and head gushing out blood. Have you seen Nightmares on Elms Street?"

He wanted to shake his head no, confused bled from his expression he'd imagine, when Sam walked in back, bringing the exact things she told him to. Hill mumbled out a quiet yet simple thanks, granted him access to her television (as long as he kept it low) and began her work on him. For the most part, he stayed silent, and nearly went into sleep, until she'd voiced it out in between, "Don't fall asleep."

He wondered more about Maria Hill: about what happened to her, when she was younger, teenager, what she's been through, but he's just too tired to speak; for a moment the heavy load of his work, his purposes during this whole trip, Sam, Nick, Natasha, _Bucky_ was too much, and he let the silence filled through.

She fixed them soups next; well _he_ got the soup, while Sam and her dug everything they could out of her kitchenette and made themselves some proper dinner. Sam cooked of course, and Hill tried to help. He fell asleep when Hill and Sam argued about RoboCop and thought he dreamt of Bucky, not for the first time, back when in the old days: when they were just children, and he was laughing and near and there were soot across Steve's face. He thought he saw Maria in there too, walking with Sam and Natasha, and Sam had smiled at him in his dream, in acknowledgement while Natasha longingly caressed Bucky's face, thumb slanted over Bucky's young lips.

And then they were just running, Bucky and him, just laughing.

He woke with his fever ceasing, and he found out he could walk again. Properly now. Hill was on the counter in her kitchenette, furiously typing over her laptop while Sam stood opposite of her, flipping through the papers she must have had printed. There's the worn book from the picture he remembered peering the night before, but he didn't point it out. "Sam informed me what you need," Hill said, reminding him of the reason why they decided to pay her a visit in the first place. She's got resources, and she's got debt. And he figured, she must be itching to work off something besides from what Stark ordered her to.

"You're set to sail." She said again, not even lifting her eyes up to him when Sam offered him a coffee, asking him if he was better. "I've stacked up what you'll need. Basic things, mostly: clothes, food, water."

"Money," Sam's eyes glinted when Steve raised an eyebrow, and Hill didn't hide the slight upward tilt to her lips.

"Pepper helped. She knows you're here. Stark doesn't. Not yet anyway." She continued on, turning away now to grab up her toast, and bit it in. "We're going to tell him once we know you're out of range. So he doesn't, you know. Do what he does."

"I understand," he murmured, worried that he might have put her into a difficult situation with Stark. He knew the billionaire, knew despite their disagreeing and confrontations, how he took care of the Avengers. Knew how Hill wasn't going to live it through as easily.

"I've had a few stacks of guns in my bedroom, if you'd like."

"We could use that," Sam nodded his head, humming delightfully and joyfully skipped his steps right to where her bedroom lied. Hill watched over his figure, and Steve knew there's amusement in her eyes, even if she tried to keep a straight face. He shook his head, just a little, "You shouldn't have."

"I'm helping." She told him, sipping on coffee. "Let me help."

He didn't want to argue with that, knowing just how many lengths she could go through just to stamp out the fact she's correct in this matter, and instead focused on: "Your book. It has a picture in it." Her eyes held a portion of shocked, but her composure remained intact. "You with a boy."

"Going through my stuff, Captain?"

"I didn't mean to, initially―"

"Of course you didn't," Steve was aware of the small (the _smallest_) smile she held over her face; the softest one too, when she flipped through the pages, and found the photo neatly stacked like he'd put it, before. "It's my nephew. Well, not biologically, considering he's my late adoptive brother's son."

"Your brother passed away?"

"Murdered, to be exact." There's a strain in her voice when she told him that, and he's said his sorry but she held her hand up, shaking her head, another smile, this time a sad one, graced her features. "Not your fault. Things happened. Dominic's fine now. My nephew. Safe."

Steve took a while to respond, because he really hadn't expect her to say anything, let alone revealing _this_. "How old is he?"

"Seventeen." She nodded her head, facing him. "He wrote to me a lot. And I do mean by letters. He can't have my e-mail. He knows I'm working with SHIELD, well, formerly. He's going to Harvard, study law. But he wants to be in military. Do what I do. He said he wants to keep _me_ safe in return." She chortled then, and a hair fell from her low ponytail, and Steve wondered how beautiful Hill was when she's like this. "He's a stupid kid. For a smart one, anyway."

"You love him." He deducted, finally taking a seat on the stool.

"He's the only family I've got left." She responded back, and stared at him. There's strange softness there, to her movements, when she proceeded by just staring at him, having chin toppled against the base of her palm. It seemed as though she's considering him, all of him. At long last, she breathed out, "That's going to leave a scar."

She must be referring to his head, and he smiled gently. "Well, one I can live with."

She nodded her head, as though understood, when Sam finally leaped back into the living room. "Well," he said, when he stashed whatever weapon he's gotten secured, "We gotta go now, Steve. Maria's got a good lead somewhere South, and we need to head there before the sun sets. Plus, Stark's going suspect things if she came a few hours later, right?" His last question was directed to Hill, and she nodded.

"Pepper's covering for me, but yes, he's correct. I need to be there in thirty minutes, or he'll know." They're all getting ready now, to part again, and Sam went on by thanking her for the bed, the television and the food. Said he really missed on quite a lot of _Law & Order_. Hill rolled her eyes.

"Thank you," he said, simply, gripping softly on his scarred side.

"Just be careful." She said in return, glancing once at his covered-up wound, before tilting his head up and stared at him. "Will I see you again?"

Sam's already on the move when she blurted it out, and he spun his head a little to the sideway just to catch her gaze, still firm and professional, but much less so, since she's only in a tank top and loose pants. Her eyes were expectant, and her shoulders rigid. A posture of a soldier, one that fitted her more than it should.

He smiled.

"I'll greet you like a typical husband when you do."

(He drew her final smile just for his collection, another thing to hold onto, when they're miles away and right at the location they needed to be. He though it was worth remembering, saving, even if it meant nothing. Because it never meant _just_ nothing, did it?)

(The stars were glinting more than it should that night, and Steve smiled when Sam mentioned that he wished he could just pluck one and save it for rainy days. Steve wished he could the same. Just, you know, _because_.)

The day eventually passed.


End file.
